r wife?"

The man made a sharp gesture of despair.

"She's dying, I think," he said, hoarsely, "and there's not a human being
near her."

"Good Lord!" cried Tom, "Good Lord!" The sweat started out on his
forehead. He remembered what Stamps had said of her youth and her pale
face, and he thought of Delia Vanuxem, and from this thought sprang a
sudden recollection of the deserted medical career in which he had been
regarded as so ignominious a failure. He had never mentioned it since he
had cut himself off from the old life, and the women for whose children
he had prescribed with some success now and then had considered the ends
achieved only the natural results of his multitudinous gifts. But the
thought of the desolate young creature lying there alone struck deep. He
listened one moment, then made his resolve.

"Go to the stable," he said, "and throw a saddle over the horse you will
find there. I know something of such matters myself, and I shall be
better than nothing, with a woman's help. I have a woman here who will
follow us."

He went into the back room and awakened Aunt Mornin.

"Get up," he said, "and saddle the mule and follow me as soon as you can
to the cabin in Blair's Hollow. The wife of a man who lives there needs a
woman with her. Come quickly."

When he returned to the door his horse stood there saddled, the stranger
sitting on his own and holding the bridle.

Tom mounted in silence, but once finally seated, he turned to his
companion.

"Now strike out," he said.

There were four miles of road before them, but they scarcely slackened
rein until they were within sight of the Hollow, and the few words they
exchanged were the barest questions and answers.

The cabin was built away from the road on the side of the hill, and
leaving their horses tethered at the foot of the slope, they climbed it
together.

When they reached the door, the stranger stopped and turned to Tom.

"There is no sound inside," he faltered; "I dare not go in."

Tom strode by him and pushed the door open.

In one corner of the room was a roughly made bedstead, and upon it lay a
girl, her deathly pale face turned sideways upon the pillow. It was as if
she lay prostrated by some wave of agony which had just passed over her;
her breath was faint and rapid, and great drops of sweat stood out upon
her young drawn face.

Tom drew a chair forward and sat down beside her. He lifted one of her
hands, touching it gently, but s